The Distant Crown
The rain had not stopped for three days, a relentless, industrial drumming against the slate roof of the Ashworth estate that turned the world outside into a grey, dissolving smear of mud and iron. I sat in the library, the air thick with the scent of damp wool and the faint, sweet rot of apples left too long in the cellar, and I watched my hands. They were trembling, a fine, ceaseless...
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